My little kitties

My little kitties. They are all I have. They are more than life itself. Two of them have taken ill. In some way I don't understand. One, my Inky, is old and has ideopathic urinary tract disease and a thyroid condition. His T4 count is over 10. I give him transdermal Tapazol inside his ears twice a day. This has made him lethargic. He is 17 or 18 years old. He is old. He is very very old. But he still greets me at the door everyday. Somehow, someway he makes his way to the door to greet me. At least I think he is greeting me. He may just be trying to find a loophole to escape. Get out of my apartment, back to the life he led before, in Eagle Rock. They are all inside cats now. They are fat. In some cases, hugely, gigantically fat. Particularly the youngest. The female. Kitty. She is portly and rubinesque. I came home two days ago and she had injured her front left paw. I don't know how she did this. I went into panic anxiety mode and fear and hopelessness. I prayed. The right course of action came to me. I let go. I had no money. But people offered, in their own small way, to help. To try and capture this young lady is almost impossible. She is feral. I can touch her these days and pet her, but when she tweeks, it's under the bed for days. That's where she is now. She has been under the bed for two days now.
But, the good news, is that Inky has stopped peeing on the carpet. Kitty can walk on her paw, although she is still under the bed. Sahaja, my middle cat, is the caretaker. He licks everybody. And we lick him back.
Things are okay today. I hope my head believes that.

Dodger psychosis

While deeply embarrassing (did I spell that right?), it has come to my attention that my entire mood and day are completely determined by the Los Angeles Dodgers baseball team. If they win, then there is a god and all is well with the universe. If they lose, then there is no god and the universe reigns in an endless cipher. While my cognitive mind understands that this is poppypoop, my subconcious mind has no such understanding of the absurdity of this condition. No amount of internal self-talk can assist me in changing this situation. Therefore, I am in the midst of what can only be described as Dodger psychosis.
Dodger psychosis can take many forms. Among them are the early stages of Gurd, a malady of the intestinal tracts, either large or small. Although Prevacid is the appropriate prescription for this digestive horror, with each impending errror recorded by the Dodgers, the prevailing acid reflux condition is exacerbated by this exasperation (do you like that?). As the innings pile up with poor hitting, men left on base, and poor fielding and wretched pitching, the gastrointestinal vagaries move into a more despondent place in the cranium. Depression sets in and no amount of medication can arrest the slow and inexorable ideation to suicide. However, when the Dodgers get that perfect hit, begin to pitch with gusto and zesto, runners begin to score and the high fives fly, well then, my friends, I am the master of the universe. The cockswain of my own domain. The world is good again. The cats are friendly and non-smelly and the phone just keep ringing with good news, no matter how bad it is. My breath is clean and fresh and my proboscis engorges with non-putridity and goodlyness. I am the mack of the sack. Los Angeles rules the universe and this Valhalla of ours can do no wrong. Ever. At any point in time.
When I am reminded that this is the sign of a very sick man, I take a time-out and play some quiet musick. I try to correct this absurdity and join the human race in having a family, or a farm. The Dodgers become businessmen with contracts and goatees, and dislike most things jewish anyway. But still, I can't help but know that baseball is back. and the Dodgers are my salvation. Not yours but mine. Go away. Stay away from me! get out of here! Mine I say, mine!

My friend Mark's living will

> 1. If I should remain in a persistent vegetative
> state for more than fifteen
> years, I would like someone to turn off the TV.
>
> 2. If I remain motionless for an extended period and
> utter only guttural,
> meaningless sounds, I would like a Guggenheim.
>
> 3. If I am unable to recognize or interact with
> friends or family members, I
> still expect gifts.
>
> 4. If I am unable to feed, clean, or dress myself, I
> would like to be
> referred to as “Mr. Trump.”
>
> 5. Do not resuscitate me before noon.
>
> 6. If I do not respond to pinches, pinpricks, rubber
> mallets, or other
> medical stimuli, please stop laughing.
>
> 7. If I no longer respond to loved ones’ attempts at
> communication, ask them
> about our last car trip.
>
> 8. Once I am allowed to die a painless and peaceful
> death, I would like my
> organs donated to whoever can catch them.
>
> 9. If my death is particularly dramatic, I would
> like to be played by Hilary
> Swank, for a slam dunk.
>
> 10. If there is any family dispute over my medical
> condition, it must be
> settled with a dreidel.
>
> 11. Even if I remain in a persistent vegetative
> state for more than fifteen
> years, that still doesn’t mean bangs.
>
> 12. If my doctor pronounces me brain-dead, I would
> like to see the new
> Ashton Kutcher movie.
>
> 13. If I remain unconscious during a painful,
> lingering illness, I would
> like the following life lessons to be published in a
> book entitled “Tuesdays
> with Me”:
>
> i. Treasure every moment.
>
> ii. Love everyone.
>
> iii. If you bought this in hardcover, you’re an
> idiot.
>
> 14. I do not wish to be kept alive by any machine
> that has a “Popcorn”
> setting.
>
> 15. I would like to die at home, surrounded by my
> attorneys.
>
> 16. If my loved ones insist that the cost of my
> medical care has become an
> impossible burden, show them a Polaroid of their
> “beach shack.”
>
> 17. In lieu of flowers or donations, I would prefer
> rioting.
>
> 18. I would like my entire estate to become the
> property of my cat, Fluffy,
> who said, “He wouldn’t want to live like this, with
> that zit.”
>
> 19. Assume that, even in a coma, I can still hear
> discussions about my
> apartment.
>
> 20. If there is any talk of canonizing me, please
> remember that I have often
> held the elevator for people who were still getting
> their mail, that I have
> twice offered a cab to a woman in a fur coat even
> though I was totally there
> first, and that I always waited to make derogatory
> comments until after the
> couple with the double stroller was a block away.
>
> 21. In the event of an open coffin, I would like
> smoky evening eyes.
>
> 22. At my memorial service, I would like my
> clergyman to begin his eulogy
> with the words “I suppose, in a way, we all killed
> him.”

4/20

These three digits have been a strange companion to me all my life. I have no idea why. Perhaps it is a synchronicity. Some of the following include:
4:20AM, the hour of my birth
4:20PM, the hour of my grandmother's death
4/20, Hitler's birthday
4/20, Columbine
420, marijuana
4:20, the reminder of my mortality as it appears after a psychic doubt or revelation
4:20AM, January 17, 1994, the Northridge Earthquake

And so on, and so forth. My mother spoke of these numbers all her life. it is my belief that the convergence of these symbols is a higher language reflecting the higher dimensional vortexees where my "soul" or "hard drive" actually exist. The information is being sent by "myself" to "myself" in order to pay attention to what I need to remember or have always known. when it occurrs I pause and go into the "gap" in the universal software that is conciousness itself.

It is my ferry to me.

It's too damn early my friend!

Another Monday morning at Hollywood High School. My mouth is kind of dry from the combination of Zyrtec, Wellbutrin and Prednazone. I have taken the Prednazone for the last three days to reduce nasal lymphatic inflammation. Last nights I took my doses of Hytrin (10mgs for deviated urethral sphincter), Seraquil (50mgs for psychosis and rage). All seems to be going well however. I watched most of Clockwork Orange on DVD last evening. I was very moved at the Ludovigo technique of character adjustment and so forth. I thought it might be effective for all my students at school. Each classroom we could attach the eye clamps and start showing them films of rap and basketball and gangs and play Tupac or Easy E. or whomever is in vogue.

I have lost my way. I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing anymore at all. This may in fact be the best thing that has ever happened to me. By societies standards I am a pathetic loser, but in the spiritual realm I am on a path towards freedom and joy. I have pretty much made my choice that the possession of the eternal and the surrender to the higher beyond is primary. I just have to follow this path and have faith. Ask for faith.

I still want the relationship, and the career, and the accolades however. "All the worst tragedies of my life never happened"...Mark Twain.

Paraprofessional Manifesto

1. We are not guests of the teachers or administrators of our school. We have a right to be here without tiptoeing around the classroom and campus.

2. We are not aides or TA's. We are paraprofessionals. It is incumbent of us to remember that and remind our co-workers of this fact.

3. Teachers are not our bosses. They are our co-workers.

4. We expect to be paid fairly and equitably for our services.

5. We will not be intimidated by teachers or administrators when attempting to fulfill our job duties. We will be given full access to information and procedures that may directly or indirectly affect us.

6. We will be present at all IEP meetings and notified of their occurrence. We will be given access to all pertinent IEP information which may directly or indirectly affect our assignment.

7. We will attempt to include the students parents in our work with the students. As Special Education is a choice by the parents, we should communicate with them and encourage their involvement. We will meet with the parents at their convenience.

8. Teachers will include us in their teaching plans. We will "co-teach" the students not "aide" them.

9. We are educated, worldly and competent professionals from all areas of society. Our decision to pursue a paraprofessional position is not the result of a lack of a teaching credential but the results of a specific skill in dealing one-to-one with Special Needs Students. We should be able to eat lunch with the faculty without discomfort by them.

10. We are an essential part of Los Angeles Unified School District and the educational experience. Without us teachers and students will suffer.

11. Organizing is our fundamental right and we will not be intimidated or retaliated against by anyone.


I can ask for what I want.
I am not a guest here.
I have the right in life to be here.

Chronic tooth pain

Every nook and cranny of my mouth is crumbling. I can feel each and every bit of calculus sticking like a stalagmite to the top of my maw. Or would that be a stalagtite? I can't remember the difference. But I know that most of the problems I have with my molars, and incisors and my bi-cuspids are directly proportional to the amount of abuse heaped on me by co-workers and my attachment to their disapproval. With every look and glance another bit of tooth shreds and calcifies. I smile trying to be pleasant but this merely causes mortifying looks of horror from these normal people as tiny bits of my smile shrivel and die at their feet. I carry a pan and broom to sweep up the dental dust which I save for my cats. I mix it into their food and plop marijuana sized rips of cat nip in there as well. They eat and dance and rot. They begin to fly up towards my ceiling and I laugh. A smokey, chalky swirling tornado of tooth decay launches up at them and they convulse. I approach a mirror and smile. There is the pain, looking directly at itself in reverse. This means I can believe some more in the wholistic approach to life. My beard continues to grow and I look older and older each day. So old that I have a hole in my gums where the shrimp used to be. Kitty seems hungry at that.

Money over my yammys

The sizzle of fried sweet potato covered in smothery gravy. Morning bowl of milk with plops of succutashy squashy yams. Hmm mmh good. A small piece of two week old bread, lightly toasted on the top side only, seated atop aluminum foil. A smooth silvery knife spreading viscous parallel lines of root. A long veined brown-orange mash can make any morning slippery and sloopy. Smosh, smush, chomp chomp chomp. Fried in the griddle, the husky vegetable moves quickly around the buttery bottom. Sometime, this evening preferably, it will move around my buttery bottom, uncontested comode surprise.

A holiday dish, indeed! This veritable everyday masticating is fungable. Only the southern dialect of vegetarian delicacies can bring justice to the most flexible of all this yummy, yammy goodness. Sing, sing the praises of the hollowed gangly feast.

Thank you for your comments

I appreciate all your cards and letters regarding the failings of the services provided. It has come to my attention that there hasn't been enough attention paid to the respective cards and letters which I have been receiving. When opening your cards and letters which I have been receiving, it has come to my attention that there are a number of them which need my attention and that I haven't been paying attention to. For that I apologize. But there are time when it's difficult to respond to each and everyone of you respectively to the amount of literature that I have been and have not been receiving. Let me just say, once again, that I thank each and everyone of you respectively for the cards and letters that both you and I have been receiving. Your sentiments have been of great help to me and, while unable to post them all here, each and everyone of you have a special place in my heart for the amount of letter and cards that you have sent me. This equals success. My goodness! I am very appreciative and am looking for my own cards and letters to begin sending back to you personally. I hope that all of you can accept my gratitutde and apologies for the serious amount of time I have invested in reading each and everyone of your letters. Not to mention the cards. Thank you from the bottom of my heart and I look forward to getting all your commments and responses right here on this very site. You should be receiving my comments very shortly and I look forward to hearing from you. Thank you again and sincerely Tony.